


'cause you light up the path

by bryndentully



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-29
Updated: 2014-12-29
Packaged: 2018-03-04 02:04:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2905256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bryndentully/pseuds/bryndentully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>"You have all these assumptions about stars. Did you ever think we <em>shine</em> sometimes, too?"</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	'cause you light up the path

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fandomnerd](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandomnerd/gifts).



> My attempt at a Stardust AU and a very belated birthday present. I hope nobody's done this yet.
> 
> Enjoy!

”Hey, lemme _go_!”

Lip curled in distaste, Carmilla tugged harder on the net in her grasp, quarry dragging behind her. The Wingwold girl wasn’t the hardest abduction Carmilla had undertaken, but she couldn’t for the life of her remember someone more annoying.

"Carmilla, please d—"

"Stop talking," Carmilla snapped, bubble of guilt stamped out by habit at the sight of Mother’s estate. ‘Estate’ was pushing it—Maman and her sisters had let Lustig fall to ruin ages ago, around the same time the last owners vanished. The locals feared it and the flashes of green light that painted the sky above the tower. If you only knew what was inside, Carmilla wanted to tell them. If only you knew what the occupants where capable of…

Including her.

"Carmilla, my father can pay you. You’ll want for nothing again. Just let me go," Mary begged, another undignified yelp of terror following her plea. Reaching the front gate at last, Carmilla clattered the door knocker against the wood, letting go of the snakelike ornament as fast as she could. She composed herself quickly, hating this part the most. The hand off. The easiest part, if you asked her mother. The hardest, if you asked Carmilla.

The door swung open, ancient hinges creaking, allowing William and Maman into Carmilla’s line of vision.

"Sweetheart," Maman greeted, tone cloying. Nothing at all like her true nature. Beneath her veil, wrinkled skin stretched into a smile. While Carmilla and William remained youthful forever, the products of magical experimentation, Maman and her sisters—Stheno and Euryale—relied on human sacrifices to maintain their beauty. "Who do we have here?" Maman queried, politely. She knew. She just wanted Carmilla to say it. 

"Mary Wingwold," said Carmilla. "The baroness."

Maman looked pleased. Beckoning her children to follow, she walked off in search of her sisters, who were tasked with preparing the altar.

"You came back fast," William observed, bending to lift a still struggling Mary over his shoulder. "Were you followed?" He asked, speaking a bit louder than usual—Mary had just started sobbing.

Carmilla shrugged. That hardly mattered. Whoever visited Lustig was never heard from again. The chances of a nearby villager even coming to trespass were slim. (Lucky them. Carmilla might as well’ve had a chain around her ankle, binding her to the estate. She couldn’t leave. Not without Maman’s express permission.)

"William!" Maman called, sounding impatient. Giving Carmilla a doubtful look in parting, William carted a now screaming Mary into the parlor.

With her role in this grisly scheme finished, Carmilla retreated to her bedroom, trying to block out the racket of Mary Wingwold’s last moments.

* * *

_I wish…_

Carmilla scuffed her boot along the roof’s shingles, eyes fixed on the sky. Her wing of the estate included a few balconies, places that had swiftly became her favorite haunts. It was her only request of Maman, after being Changed. _I want to see the stars, Mother_ , Carmilla remembered asking, not very long after she was kidnapped from a wedding ball and murdered. Maman, the aunts, and Carmilla had fled Styria only a year before. Their activities in the countryside had not gone unnoticed, and while an angry mob couldn’t withstand the might of a trio of witches, they could always come back again, shouting about the spilled blood of their daughters, the stolen lives of those most precious to them. They did, again and again, powered by grief and love rather than hatred and darkness. (Carmilla watched them from the shadows, intrigued and remorseful, sad and silent. Her part in each kidnapping was a significant one—she just couldn't pretend otherwise.)

"You can’t level the whole town, Lilita," Stheno had fumed, choleric in her seniority. Euryale had nodded in agreement, expression as unmoving as stone in the candlelight, while Carmilla’s gaze had flitted between the sisters in both fear and wonder. They were monsters, all of them, but bickered and squabbled like Carmilla’s (dead) siblings. Like _humans_. It baffled her. It confused her.

Maman was always the proudest of the group.

"I can and I _will_.”

"Looking like that, sister?" Stheno had sneered, flicking one gnarled finger in Maman’s direction. Maman’s looks had withered away entirely a week ago, leaving Carmilla’s mistress with ailing, sickly features.

Maman had nothing to say.

"It’s settled," Euryale had concluded, gesturing for Carmilla to start gathering their things. "We’re leaving."

They took flight from Eastern Europe (quite literally) and settled elsewhere, always briefly. Every place had a new story. A new Mircalla. Millarca, Carmilla, Arcillma—anything but her real name. The only thing that stayed consistent was Karnstein; Maman, Euryale, and Stheno had no surnames of their own to pass down to her. Good thing, too; Carmilla wondered if these creatures would erase every defiantly different bit of Mircalla Karnstein if they could.

In Germany, they found William Eisen, the second son of a second son and easily missed (pathetically easy to convince to join them, Carmilla recalled). Two lures provided the witches with as many beating hearts as Carmilla and William could possibly steal. The stakes got higher with double the bait—they needed to move awa as quicker as usual to avoid detection. For now, they found a home in the realm of Faerie, a world that ran invisibly alongside England. The kingdom of Stormhold hadn’t yet caught onto Maman’s game, allowing Carmilla some undisturbed time to herself.

"I wish," Carmilla muttered, tossing pebbles onto the roof to listen to the clatter. Mary’s screams had been gone for hours now, but the echoes remained of them, rattling around in Carmilla’s brain, just like the girls before her. Elsie, Sarah Jane, Natalie…

Carmilla put more strength in the next throw, punctuating each impact of the pebbles with a word.

"I wish I could get out of here.” Bits of the balcony below chipped, the corners of bricks sheared off with the force of her throws. “I wish”— _I could kiss someone I loved_ , Carmilla thought, but couldn’t dare herself to say it aloud, much less hope for something so far out of her grasp—“I could see something amazing.” Carmilla aimed the last pebble at the balcony’s edge, watching shreds of the bricks snap off. “I wish—”

The last prayer died in her throat. Carmilla’s gaze went back to the sky. She’d read about this—all of it, anything she could get her hands on—but had never seen the sight with her own eyes. The written word just couldn’t do this marvel justice. Unseen one moment and then all there was to see in the next, a ball of light captured Carmilla's attention. It blurred across the heavens, blasting a fiery path through the clouds.

A shooting star, Carmilla realized, mouth agape. The star’s path continued downward, plummeting toward the horizon. Scrambling to her feet, Carmilla was halfway out of her bedroom before common sense grinded all haste to a stop.

She couldn’t go off and see the fallen star because she wanted to. She was getting ahead of herself— _forgetting_ herself. Maman’s thrall kept her close. That and a lack of trust; Carmilla’s one and only attempt to run away with Ell destroyed any chance of Maman letting her explore the world unsupervised, much less follow fights of fancy. Thinking quickly, Carmilla composed herself, practicing her excuse as she set off through the corridors.

* * *

"Sisters, you say?"

"Sisters, cousins. All young, all _very_ beautiful.”

"And they live…where?"

"South," Carmilla lied, neatly stepping over William’s foot when he tried to trip her as she walked past him. Maman and the aunts watched her, curious. "A stone’s throw from Market Town. Mary mentioned it yesterday," Carmilla added, smoothly. Connecting a recent kill to the promise of others—an entire family's worth—would capture their attention. (Carmilla hated how well she knew them.) Euryale looked impressed, although Maman and Stheno would need more convincing. (William just looked peevish. He was always jealous of her, even when it didn't matter.)

"Six hearts instead of one," said Carmilla, concealing relief when Maman started smiling, newly spelled features luminous with youth. A good sign. The ritual to preserve their looks was always split into three parts, sucking up whatever youth their portions could afford. Carmilla hoped the promise of a surplus would usher in their agreement.

"Good. Let her go," Stheno urged of Maman, who was studying Carmilla as if she had never seen her before.

" _Alone_?" William interjected, indignantly. "She can’t handle six girls!"

"You can barely handle one,” she shot back, making Euryale snigger. “And I don’t snack on _my_ targets.”

William slouched in his seat, fuming. Carmilla returned her attention to Maman, all business.

"How long will this take?"

"A week. Two, maybe," Carmilla answered, accounting for the struggle that waited for her. Kidnapping six different girls and dragging them league after league? Had she gone mad? Carmilla squirmed. Seeing a star ought to be something special if it meant a handful of girls were to die for it. Her irrational impulse.

"Five days," Maman granted at last, tone brooking no argument.

Carmilla curtsied.

* * *

Nothing. Nothing. _Nothing_. Stormhold had too many clearings, in Carmilla's opinion.

Carmilla materialized in a puff of black smoke, scanning the area for the star. In truth, she wasn’t exactly sure what she was looking for. Meteorites were just bits of rock from other worlds, according to books she could find between excursions to find sacrifices, although stars could look like many different things in Faerie, depending on who you asked.

After hours of searching, Carmilla’s persistence paid off. She broke into a sprint as fast as her feet could carry her. She approached the center of the crater, steps reverent, as if she was paying her respects in a synagogue. It wasn't every day you got to see—

"Who are you? Where am I?"

—a _girl_. Carmilla stared, getting closer to the girl, curiosity piqued, but her hopes dashed.

" _I'm_ Carmilla," she offered, raising an eyebrow toward the girl in the silver dress. A red pendant hung at her throat, glittering brighter than a ruby. It reminded Carmilla too much of Maman's favorite brooch. "And I'm actually in the middle of something, so you'll need to find another tour guide."

The girl snorted. "Thanks, _Carm_." Smiling beatifically when Carmilla bristled, the girl sat up, smoothing out wrinkles from her dress. "So this is Earth," she mused, not much taller than Carmilla. Pretty, too, Carmilla conceded, albeit grudgingly, distractedly.

Carmilla deigned not to answer, preferring to scour the vicinity for the fragments of the star. Any other day, the girl's unfamiliarity with Earth would've gotten Carmilla's attention immediately, but with a six victim quota to attend to, she wanted something to hold onto when the days ahead became difficult to bear. If she could just _find_ it already.

"Sorry, cutie. Kinda busy here," said Carmilla, kicking over a rock to see what was beneath it.

"Are you looking for something?"

"No, I just like kicking rocks around."

"Very funny," said the girl, irritable. "Maybe I could help you."

That made Carmilla laugh.

"Sure, why not? If you happen to see a shooting star lying around, sweetheart, you just let me know."

"We don't _shoot_. And my name is Laura."

Carmilla abandoned her inspection of the nearest rock.

"We?" She repeated.

"Stars don't shoot, we fly," Laura explained, patiently, fussing with her necklace, then her dress, then just her hands, as if she had never seen any of them before. "Except now, when I was falling. Do you know how scary it is to just be minding your own business, and then—wham!" Laura mimed (presumably) an impact. "You're in the middle of a crater and a really long way from home."

"I know the feeling," Carmilla deadpanned, earning a huff of distaste from Laura. Carmilla rose to her feet, regarding Laura in disbelief when her words finally registered. "Wait a second. _You're_ the star?"

Laura nodded.

"Stars aren't—they're just bits of rock."

"That's what we want you to think," Laura countered, smiling again with something akin to arrogance.

"I don't have time for this," was all Carmilla could say, moving toward the lip of the crater.

"Hey!" Laura squawked, barreling after her. "Wait! Carmilla, wait."

Patience evaporating by the second, Carmilla stopped, waited for Laura to catch up, and raised her eyebrows in inquiry.

"I can't stay here. What if—what if a bear tries to eat me?"

"Give him your star story and he'll run from _you_."

Laura snatched Carmilla's wrist when she turned away again, face alight with anger.

"It's not a story. I'm a star. Please, just—" Laura let go of her, expression pleading. "Just help me get home, okay? I'll do anything you want."

 _Anything_?

"Fine," Carmilla grumbled, abandoning that train of thought. She still had just over four days left; she could find some magical way to get Laura home and collect six girls on her way back to Lustig. Easy. Plenty of time. Maybe. "There's a town not too far from here," she admitted, jerking a thumb eastward. "A witch could send you back to wherever the hell you came from."

Laura pointed up, beamed, but was forced to hurry to match Carmilla's pace after the vampire started walking.

"That little bunched up face you make when you're angry is hilarious, cutie," Carmilla commented.

"Shut up, Carmilla."

* * *

Carmilla met a lot of girls in her lifetime, but none like Laura. Carmilla wasn't sure if the sky simply lacked conversational decorum, or if Laura just loved to hear herself talk, but the entire walk consisted of a monologue.

It made Carmilla almost miss Maman's diatribes. Almost.

"So I said, you Beta be kidding me, Orionius. _Get it_? Isn't that a great one?"

"That one take you a while?" Carmilla asked, keeping an eye out for highwaymen. Missing the sarcasm entirely, Laura nodded.

"Oh, about a hundred years or so. I don't really keep track of time."

"Hmm."

Laura cast her a sideways look, lips pursed in disapproval. "You don't believe me."

"Nope," Carmilla replied, popping the 'p'. Laura rolled her eyes, falling silent.

They reached Market Town an hour later. Delighted with the spectacle, Laura stopped at every stall, inspecting everything from scarves to mittens to advertisements for self defense lessons to minuscule telescopes. "Can I have this?" Laura asked, aiming the lens in Carmilla's direction, then the vendor.

Carmilla batted her away, bemused. "If it'll make you keep quiet, fine."

With the deal struck, Carmilla paid for it and tugged Laura away, toward the outskirts of the stalls. None of these vendors had what she wanted, but the furthest, most evasive peddlers ought to have something.

Unfortunately for Carmilla, this didn't apply to Lola Perry.

"Welcome to Lola's Luxuries," said the vendor, red curls bouncing. Her partner—or coachperson—watched the scene from a distance. "Hello, my name is Lola, and this is LaFontaine. How may we help you?"

"Hello, my name is Laura," the star chimed in before Carmilla could say a word, smiling all the way to her ears. "This is Carmilla. We're in the market for—"

"Easy on the theatrics, cutie," Carmilla interjected, provoking a laugh from LaFontaine. "We're looking for a Babylon candle."

Babylon candles brought the user anywhere they wanted, all at the speed of a thought.

"Sorry, fresh out," said Lola, disappointedly. "Can I interest you in a cup of hot cocoa instead?"

"Ooh, that sounds wonderful."

"You don't even know what cocoa _is_."

"I do too!" Laura protested, offended. "It's…it's a drink. Right? _Right_ ," she proclaimed after a puzzled nod of confirmation from Lola. Laura jabbed a finger at Carmilla's chest. "Don't baby me. I'm _much_ older and wiser than you."

Right.

"What _ever_ ," Carmilla shot back, returning her gaze to Lola. "Do you know where we could find a Babylon candle?"

Lola shrugged helplessly, glancing to LaFontaine in appeal.

"You might find one a ways northward from here," they mused, gathering their hat in their hands with a look of trepidation. "There's a manor full of witches that could—"

"Thanks," Carmilla interrupted, curtly, meandering away, but not quickly enough to avoid seeing Laura's horrified expression.

"Hey!"

Laura caught up, weighed down with a bag Carmilla knows she didn't pay for. "Wait up," she muttered, finally able to keep up with Carmilla's strides. "That was really rude of you, Carmilla. They were just trying to help us."

"I don't have time to chitchat, sweetheart. Not all of us have a hundred years to work on things."

Laura stopped her again, exasperated. "What is your _problem_? You've been acting like a jerk since I landed."

Carmilla crossed her arms and looked away, refraining from answering. Where to begin? Better to say, how?

"Okay, don't talk. Just follow me this time. Lola gave me directions to an inn. We can rest up and then keep going."

Giving herself a moment to worry over her time limit and register the irony of following a star on the ground, Carmilla lifted her skirts and jogged after Laura.

* * *

"Thanks for using all the hot water for _your_ bath," Laura greeted as she sat down opposite Carmilla, who had saved a table in the dining room.

"My pleasure," Carmilla assured her, unperturbed. Laura rolled her eyes.

The innkeeper arrived with Laura's food and bustled off to attend to the newest guest. Carmilla eyed him, gaze darting from his expensive clothes to the horse tethered outside the window. Rich, by the looks of it. Royalty? She wondered, spotting a crest.

"You must be hungry," Laura volunteered, pushing her plate toward Carmilla. Not wanting to cause another argument, Carmilla picked at it, but stopped dead when the other guest started talking to the innkeeper.

"A star. No, I'm not crazy, bro. It's around here somewhere," said the man, brandishing a map at the innkeeper. "See? It's close. My father threw this pendant into the sky…no, I'm not making this up! Wait, bro! Bro! I'm not finished telling my story!"

The guest followed the innkeeper into the other room. Laura met Carmilla's eyes, concerned.

"Go get your stuff," Carmilla ordered, not liking the possibility of a free-for-all on Laura. Stars were more valuable than anything Carmilla could think of—who knows what could become of her? The less scrutiny on Laura, the better, Carmilla decided. "We're leaving."

* * *

"I still think we should've left him some money," Laura mumbled, swaying slightly in the saddle. According to the crest on the horse's bridle, _Prince_ Brody would be stranded at the inn for some time. Carmilla couldn't muster any sympathy for him.

"He has money. One horse gone missing won't hurt him."

Laura tightened her grip around Carmilla's waist, reproachful.

"You don't care about anything, do you?"

"I care," Carmilla retorted, more annoyed with being insulted than the notion of her indifference. Laura didn't answer.

After several paces in awkward silence, Laura spoke again. "Where are we going now?"

"There's another marketplace…somewhere. If they don't have a Babylon candle, then I'm out of ideas."

Laura's chin came to rest on Carmilla's shoulder, just for a moment. Carmilla had the grace to accept this apology, sensing it was the only one she would be getting.

"I never thanked you for helping me, did I?"

"Nope," Carmilla answered, breaking the serious air with a pinch on Laura's arm.

"Hey!" Laura yelped, but was laughing in Carmilla's ear the next second, resting her chin on Carmilla's shoulder again, where it would stay.

"Thanks for taking care of me, Carmilla." Her breath tickled Carmilla's throat, raising goosebumps on her skin.

"Sure thing, cutie."

* * *

They stopped to make camp. Determined to be useful, Laura listened to Carmilla's directions about making a fire while Carmilla laid out their bedrolls and tied the horse to a tree.

"Did it," Laura proclaimed when the flames were crackling below her fingers, triumphant.

Ignoring that, Carmilla drew out the food Lola had given them. "Here. Have something," Carmilla offered, passing some to Laura. A star made a human should want something to eat very regularly, shouldn't it? Carmilla wondered, puzzling over celestial physiology for a minute. Forgoing the meat, vegetables, and fruit, Laura took a bite of a piece of chocolate instead, miming excitedly at the taste.

"This is _so_ good."

"Stars don't eat much, huh?"

Laura shrugged, still chewing. "We don't need to. We just…are, I guess."

"Seems boring."

"Seems boring down here. All everybody does is act like raging…bad people."

"That's how it works down here."

Laura wrapped up the food and stowed it away for safekeeping, scrutinizing Carmilla with impassive eyes.

"Why are you so…like this?" Laura asked, finally. "Gloomy," she concluded. In lieu of an answer, Carmilla lied down, preferring to look at the stars that were still afloat instead of Laura.

"Come on," Laura prodded, resting back on her elbows. "What's with you?"

"Nothing," Carmilla retorted, defensive. "Not everyone can be as cheery as you, that's all."

"I'm positive, not cheery," Laura corrected. "And I just think you could…I don't know. Lighten up, or something."

"Life's not worth lightening up for." Carmilla hadn't intended to let things get _that_ personal, but it was too late now.

A snort. "Shows how much you know." When Carmilla looked to her for clarification, it was Laura's turn to shrug and play nonchalant. "Despite what you think, I've seen a lot of things. I mean…" Laura's eyebrows drew together in thought. "Not all of it's good. But!" She moved closer to Carmilla, regaining some of her previous optimism. She even smiled. Radiantly, if you could manage to wrestle it out of Carmilla. "Not all of it is bad, either," Laura added. "If you think everything's been bad for you so far, then I think your luck is due to change. It just has to be."

"That's a nice thought," was all Carmilla was willing to admit. Laura beamed.

"See? Isn't it _nice_ to be positive?"

"Go to sleep, Laura."

* * *

Another discovery about Laura, the alleged star: her curiosity was going to kill her one day.

"Sirius is always so nice to me! I don't understand!" Laura squeaked, hightailing it to keep up with Carmilla. A pack of wolves pursued, paws nearly at their heels. The horse fled instantly at the sight of them, marking itself for prey they would track down later. Carmilla put it out of her mind.

"Well, these dogs _bite_!" Carmilla yelled, maneuvering Laura into an outcropping of rock alongside the coast. The wolves stepped more carefully now, hanging back, as if reluctant to follow onto untrustworthy ground. When Carmilla snapped her teeth at them, they kept on going, taking flight from the cliffs.

"What does that make you?" Laura panted as Carmilla retracted her fangs, clutching a stitch at her side. "A werewolf?"

"Of course not."

"Well, what?" Laura asked, as they retraced their steps. She took to studying Carmilla again, like there was something interesting to look at.

A beat of hesitation, then—"A vampire."

To Carmilla's complete astonishment, Laura didn't panic. Or cry, or scream, or do much of anything. She only shrugged, gaining the lead.

"That doesn't scare you?" Carmilla pressed, trailing after Laura almost as doggedly as the wolves had done. "Not even a bit?"

Carmilla remembered all too clearly how much it terrified Ell.

"Nope," said Laura, popping the 'p' as insolently as she could, like she had been dying to. Carmilla suspected so. "If you're giving a star a hand, why should I judge what kind of thing or what kind of person you are?"

That kept even Carmilla quiet.

"Besides," Laura went on, smile a cross between empathy and a taunt, "you've got to be sweetest vampire I've ever met."

"Pray you don't meet any more, cupcake."

* * *

"Three miles to go," Laura read off a road marker. "Or just one, if we plan on crossing this gorge."

Carmilla gave the wooden bridge stretching from side to side a dubious look, mimicked by Laura.

"Well…" Laura hesitated. "That _is_ pretty high."

"Says the star."

Laura snorted, giving Carmilla a smile that could pass for affectionate.

"The bridge," she decided, taking Carmilla's hand to lead the way.

"Enjoying your vacation, Kitty?"

Carmilla stopped short, tightening her grip on Laura's hand. She turned slowly, giving William the darkest look she could muster.

"Leave when you can, fresh meat."

William laughed. "Without your friend, here? I don't think so."

"Carmilla?" Laura questioned, gaze flitting between them.

If possible, William looked even smugger than usual. She fumed, privately, frustrated she hadn't noticed him shadowing their progress. "You haven't told her?"

"I was getting to it," Carmilla replied, stiffly.

"Getting to what?" Laura demanded, untangling their hands. "What's going on?"

"Carmilla has a job to do," said William, gleeful. "Does this make her the first of six, Kitty? Or are you just trying to run away from us again?"

Carmilla scowled at him.

"What is going on?" Laura interrupted, more insistently. "Carmilla?"

It was now or never. Carmilla sighed. If Laura hadn't run for the hills at her admittance to being a vampire, she sure as hell would now. "I wanted to tell you. I just didn't…have the time."

"Tell me w—?"

The words were barely out of her mouth before William lunged at Carmilla, bodily knocking the two of them onto the bridge. Bits of timber snapped off and plummeted into the gorge. They struggled, hands a hairsbreadth from changing into claws. Laura was yelling something or another, but Carmilla couldn't hear a word. Another groan from the ropes sounded into her ears, drowning Laura out. One of the strands snapped, sending half of the bridge sideways and the vampires careening off their feet.

"Carmilla!" Laura shouted.

"I'll rip her to shreds, Kitty," William snarled, reduced to batting at Carmilla and hanging on for dear life. Carmilla aimed a kick, hands turning white under the strain of holding them both up. The rope shivered, unraveling faster now. The vampires descended a foot, more sharply this time. Carmilla gave the seemingly bottomless chasm a panicked look, knowing how painful—but harmless, in the long run—the impact would be.

"Cut the rope," she panted, hoping Laura could hear her.

"But—"

" _Just do it!_ "

Carmilla's plan to survive was just shapeshifting so far, but by the state of things, it was all she had. At least Laura was safe, she figured, desperation overtaking rational thought, or a plan any further than five seconds from now.

Hands shaking, Laura started sawing with a knife Lola and LaFontaine had snuck into her bag. The last fibers separated, screech of them as deafening and shrill as piano keys. The broken bridge pulled Carmilla and William into the gorge, Laura's scream following them into the abyss.

* * *

"Shh!"

" _Quiet_."

"Come on, Cap, we were just—"

"You'll wake her up!" Someone hissed, sounding close to Carmilla. Feeling as if she was prying her eyes open with a spoon, Carmilla blinked, trying to make sense of her surroundings. She started with her feet. Still there, attached properly. Good. Her dress, made by Maman herself? Dirty, and ripped at the bottom, like someone had tried tear it off her. _Unacceptable_ , Maman would snap. Carmilla's brow furrowed, thinking back. Had William done that?

"Carmilla!"

Laura moseyed into view, holding a bloodied handkerchief. She dabbed it against Carmilla's temple, relieved expression clear through Carmilla's fog of confusion.

"What happened?" Carmilla croaked, concentrating very hard on her articulation.

"You bashed your head into a cliff," a woman behind Laura piped up, pushing at the brim of her tricorne hat to see Carmilla better. "We saw a guy with you, too, but he was…gone, by the time we got to you."

"You're right," Laura conceded, referring to their earlier conversation with a contrite smile. "I didn't like him."

Feeling no pity whatsoever for William, Carmilla skipped on, working hard to keep up with this almost chaotic order of events. She couldn't for the life of her remember what day it was, nor how many were left. "Who's 'we'?" She asked in spite of her fretting. Laura's smile only widened.

"Sky pirates! I see them all the time," she explained, dabbing at Carmilla's forehead. At Carmilla's warning look, she shrugged. "I couldn't just not tell them! They saved your life, Carmilla."

"Technically, we're lightning smugglers," said the captain, sidling a smile at Laura, then at Carmilla. "But I can say for sure, though—we've never had a star aboard the _Summer Sister_."

The sailors scattered about the bow and stern cheered, as if on cue. All of them were women, Carmilla noted, unable to conceal her surprise.

"Danny, this is Carmilla. Carmilla, Danny," Laura interjected, easing Carmilla to her feet by the elbow. Danny extended a hand rather than a curtsy, considering Carmilla curiously. Carmilla shook it, feeling extraordinarily out of place and more worse for wear than she had been in a long while.

"I better get Carmilla into something more comfortable," Laura observed.

While Carmilla flushed, inundated with the implications, Danny gestured for them to make use of her cabin.

* * *

"I'm fine," Carmilla insisted as soon as they were alone, doing a poor job of hiding the frailty in her voice. Laura hummed, unconvinced.

"You so aren't."

She crossed the room to the wardrobe and rifled through Danny's spare clothes, looking for something for Carmilla to wear. Not moving from the door, Carmilla swept her gaze around the cabin. Where there wasn't a map, there was a shelf filled with books, covering every available space. From her spot against the door, she spotted the names of playwrights from the spines, but to her disappointment, no philosophers.

"The crew calls her Captain Shakespeare. She reads a lot," Laura explained, noticing Carmilla's preoccupation. "Here," she added, helping Carmilla out of her dress and into a pair of trousers and a shirt. "We'll have to roll these up a little," Laura pointed out, earning Carmilla's first smile since they broke camp this morning. Or whenever they started walking, Carmilla thought, unsure of the time. "You'll slide right out of them otherwise…" Laura trailed off.

"We wouldn't want that, would we?"

"Not now. I mean…no," Laura mumbled, albeit fondly. She fiddled with Carmilla's sleeves, tongue between her teeth as she worked. "There. Perfect."

"Thanks, cutie," Carmilla murmured, squeezing Laura's hands.

Laura let her, features kind.

"I'm still mad at you. And I think you have a lot of explaining to do."

Carmilla laughed wryly, though it was short lived.

"Prepare to jibe like these sailors, cupcake. We're in for a long night."

* * *

"What do they do with the hearts? Eat them?" Laura asked, face contorted in revulsion.

Carmilla shrugged, determinedly neutral. "I don't know. I don't stay long enough for that part."

They had moved from Danny's cabin to the crow's nest, a place Laura had eagerly claimed as her favorite part of the ship. ("I'm closer to home than ever, see?") With that one concession, Carmilla started talking. It felt dangerous, telling Laura everything about her duties. She left out Ell until the end, trying to provide Laura with the clearest picture of her problem imaginable. Loving Ell was messy. Remembering Ell was just...uncomfortable. (Carmilla hadn't told a soul about Ell before. Everyone else in her life was a part of or fell into Maman's game, leaving Carmilla with little room for commiseration.) She went on and won, but Laura never looked away from her, not even when the sun set over the horizon and the stars—Laura's family?—returned, blanketing the sky in a tapestry of light. She just took Carmilla's hand, tracing constellations into the palm.

"I'm so sorry, Carmilla."

Carmilla shrugged again.

"Maybe Danny can help us," Laura suggested, sounding to Carmilla like she was pulling at straws. "And the crew! They're all so...brave and righteous."

"Humans can't stop a witch, let alone three," Carmilla said, voice sharp. "And I doubt anyone aboard the _Summer Sister_ would be interested in helping a vampire."

At that, Laura let go of her hand, miffed. "You helped me even when you didn't have to. I'm just trying to return the favor, Carmilla."

"I don't need—" Carmilla broke off, running a hand through her hair. "I don't need you to return the favor, okay? It's...fine."

"It isn't fine," Laura retorted, hugging her knees closer to her chest. "You always say it is, but…it's like you don't want anyone to help you."

"I don't. They'll just get hurt."

Laura scoffed. "Gods, you sound like a Shakespearan tragedy or something."

"Do you even _know_ any Shakespeare?" Carmilla wondered, a bit snidely, more to get Laura off her case than anything else.

"You're unbelievable," Laura muttered, getting to her feet. "I'll see you later."

She clambered out of the crow's nest and started down the rope ladder, leaving Carmilla to her thoughts.

* * *

Carmilla watched the ship cut across the sky, parting clouds like waves. If she wasn't bound to an otherworldly agenda, Carmilla liked to think she'd make a good sentry. Or a decent sailor, maybe. Anything but being bound to a house and living like a ghost. She tried imagining fitting in with the crew below, but it was a hard sell. Women her own age were almost immediately put into a _target_ category. All except Laura, she realized, a little disturbed by this admission. If Laura fit nowhere, then what was she to Carmilla?

It wasn't until much later, nearly morning, did Carmilla's train of thought finally break. Tilting her head, she tried placing the sudden upswing of music from the deck.

Peering between sails, Carmilla caught sight of the crew dancing. They clapped each other on, twirling in circles like children without a care in the world. Laura stood off to the side, chattering animatedly with neighbors, although she once or twice stepped in to spin along with the other women, laughing delightedly. Carmilla watched the scene for a time, content to remain a bystander, unseen and unheard, until Danny asked Laura to dance.

Struck with something she dared only label as annoyance, Carmilla climbed out of the crow's nest and joined the crew on the deck, lingering on the edge until Laura saw her.

"Carmilla! Come dance with me."

Danny retreated to the circle as Carmilla approached, taking Laura's hand. If it seemed jealous, Laura didn't say anything.

"You've been dancing all wrong, you know."

"Give her some pointers, then," Danny suggested without missing a beat, provoking a round of applause from the crew. Carmilla sighed, knowing without looking that Laura was grinning.

"I'm the worst dancer," Laura goaded, making Danny laugh.

Giving the captain and first mate at her elbow a scowl, Carmilla met Laura's eyes, narrowing her own with a knowing look. "Your hand goes up here, cutie," she began, moving Laura's hand from below the waist to Carmilla's own shoulder. Amidst giggles from their audience, Laura blushed. Taking Laura's free hand, Carmilla wound the other around her waist, and prodded Laura's feet into the right position with her boot.

Danny clapped once, and the sailors doubling as musicians struck up a tune.

"Step," Carmilla ordered, leading when she remembered Laura wouldn't know how to. "Step, step, and step…"

"This isn't so hard," Laura jeered, moments before she stumbled.

"Smooth, star girl."

Looking both amused and mutinous, Laura kept at it. "What dance is this? I see it all the time."

"A waltz," Carmilla answered, spinning Laura and bringing her back. "Do you ever see what happens after it?" She questioned, all innocence.

Beet red, Laura mumbled something unintelligible. Another spin—Carmilla this time, by Laura's surprisingly strong stroke—made her aware of the absence of the crew, the captain, and most conspicuously, the music. They danced without it, maintaining the rhythm. "When did they leave?"

Something she should've noticed earlier.

"Sometime after 'star girl'," Laura quipped. They drew close again. "Thanks for teaching me, Carmilla," she added, pressing a kiss to Carmilla's cheek, the gesture as striking like a lit spark. Laura herself looked like a spark—her skin seemed to glow, bathing the deck in a silvery light independent of the moon. The dance slowed to a standstill, next beats as natural as the tempo that preceded it. Carmilla's hands slid higher, coming up to cradle Laura's jaw. Laura's eyes drifted shut. Carmilla shut hers soon afterward, maybe too eagerly, feeling as if her heart would start beating all over again. This was a dance Carmilla knew just as well if not better than the waltz, only it wasn't like any that came before it. This one was real. This one mattered.

Their noses had just brushed, when—

"Land, ho!"

Carmilla's eyes shot open. To her credit, she didn't look nearly as disappointed as Laura did, who shot a glare at the first mate—Betty—hiding behind the steering wheel.

"They're taking us to that other marketplace you told me about," Laura explained, turning back to Carmilla. She looked sad.

"Huh?"

"For the Babylon candle. Remember?"

Wishing she didn't, Carmilla nodded. Laura took her hand, bracingly this time, the moment officially broken.

"Let's get me home, Carm."

* * *

They bade goodbye to the _Summer Sister _and set off, armed with directions, and at Danny's insistence, money and supplies to last them a week. (Carmilla didn't exactly have a week to spare, although Laura's warning look dissuaded her from mentioning that to Danny.)__

"What's that?" Carmilla asked, pointing at a small black box that Laura had put a lot of trouble into hiding from her.

"Oh, nothing."

Not willing to get into another argument, Carmilla let the subject drop. The only difference from their other travels was Laura's hand held in hers, sometimes swung between them playfully, as if they were lovers on a walk.

Carmilla was finally beginning to relax when they found the path blocked. _Again._

"You have _got_ to be kidding me," she groaned. She was getting increasingly tired of interruptions, no matter what the cause.

"Stop, thieves," Prince Brody called, brandishing a sword. "Where is Zeta?"

"Who's Zeta?" Laura asked, glancing at Carmilla in confusion.

"My horse," Brody cut in as he approached them, sword still raised in the air.

"Oh, that. We lost it. Sorry," Carmilla offered, batting the weapon away with her hand. "Put that thing down. You'll take someone's eye out."

Laura giggled. Sheepish, Brody obeyed, before his attention went elsewhere.

"That's my father's pendant," he exclaimed, now pointing at Laura's throat. Surprised, she unclasped it and handed it over without a word. "That makes you the star," Brody deduced. "I've been looking _all over_ for you. My brothers, too. But…this makes _me_ the new king!"

"Congratulations, you found her and your stupid necklace. Happy?" said Carmilla, making Brody retreat a step, holding his hands up in surrender.

"Sorry, little lady."

"Let's make a trade," Laura suggested, mediating. "You get the necklace, we get a Babylon candle."

Brody brightened and shouldered off his pack, searching for the candle amongst his things. "Funny you say so. I just bought one of those to get home."

"Very funny," Carmilla noted, dryly. Smiling at Brody in gratitude, Laura elbowed Carmilla in the ribs.

"A deal's a deal," said the prince, handing the Babylon candle to Laura, who took it with wide eyes.

"Whoa."

"Those'll get you anywhere you wanna go. You just have to think of it."

"Thanks, she's got it," Carmilla told him, turning her back on Brody. "So…" This was happening too fast, Carmilla thought, discomforted. She had just found Laura, and now Laura was leaving. Whatever this jaunt would turn out to be, Carmilla couldn't have expected from the start, but the thought of it being over already was too much. She was having _fun_ here, maybe for the first time ever.

"So," said Laura, hugging the candle to her chest, eyes suspiciously shiny. "I guess this is it, huh?"

"I guess it is," Carmilla replied, at a loss for much more.

Laura opened her mouth to say something else, but her gaze went past Carmilla, becoming horrified.

"Sweetheart!"

Carmilla froze up. She didn't have to think very hard to know who it was. She didn't want to.

"Maman," she greeted through closed lips, keeping Laura—and the prince, by extension—behind her.

The witch simpered, approaching.

"Is this one of your victims?" Maman asked rhetorically, looking Laura up and down. "She's a pretty one."

"No," Carmilla replied, stiffly. "I won't be bringing you any more girls." The last part was all talk, an empty gamble at best, but Carmilla couldn't envision a moment where she'd need to be braver.

"That's a shame," said Maman, jerking Carmilla forward by the chin. "William disappeared, and now, you. This won't do. This won't do one bit."

"You leave her alone," Laura commanded, grabbing Brody's sword from its sheath and aiming it toward Maman. Maman only laughed.

"Darling, don't interfere. This is a family matter."

Clapping a restraining hand on Carmilla's shoulder, Maman whisked them away in a gust of black smoke.

* * *

"It seems your first interment didn't teach you a thing, Carmilla," Maman remarked, guiding her daughter by the neck. Carmilla should've known her quest to see the star was discovered. William would inevitably sent to follow at Maman's direction to in order to keep an uncharacteristic Carmilla honest, and when he was gone, when any chance of the plan fell through, the confirmation that Carmilla's deception became that much clearer. 

They didn't go to the main foyer, or Carmilla's bedroom. Maman walked her to the stairs, descending into the basement. "No, no. No, please. Not there," Carmilla choked out, tripping slightly as they descended into the very heart of Lustig. "Maman, please—"

"Three hundred years should do the trick," Maman decided, as if Carmilla hadn't spoken. They reached the tomb.

"Maman, please don't…"

"Oh, Carmilla," Maman said with a shake of her head, ever the dissatisfied mother. "If only your heart was one I could rip out."

With a violent shove, Maman sent Carmilla sprawling into the cell. Outside the door, the locks shut tight, cloaking Carmilla in darkness.

* * *

It wasn't the first time Carmilla had been locked away.

The ultimate punishment for Ell was imprisonment. Killing her was wasteful; letting her go was foolish. Maman knew better. Maman always wanted more of everything, even pain. Only it was up to Carmilla to suffer the consequences. She drew her knees to her chest, gaze landing on the rows of tallies carved into the wall, etched during her last visit. One for every day of her sentence until Carmilla no longer cared, and scratched out the rest of them for something to do, something to draw blood from her hands. Something. Anything—any sort of feeling, even if it was agony, it was something substantial. The Lustig crypt made time and thought meaningless, perhaps more so to a girl like Carmilla, who vowed to never care about anything ever again.

Except Laura.

"Carmilla? Carmilla, where are you?"

It might have been Carmilla's imagination, but the cellar was beginning to _sound_ like Laura…

That, and the glowing. The door to her prison rattled, shook, and at last, gave way, revealing Laura to Carmilla's eyes. For the first time, Laura actually _looked_ like a star. Like her smile could make miracles happen, like it had heard every whispered _I wish_ Carmilla had uttered to the heavens. Maybe it could. Maybe it had, Carmilla mused, encouraged to smile right back, enough to show teeth. Maybe something good really was in the stars for her.

Perhaps it was right in front of her.

"Hey, it's just me. You have all these assumptions about stars and never listen," Laura greeted, still glowing faintly when Carmilla hadn't said a word, instead reduced to staring. She threw her arms around Carmilla, words reverberating into Carmilla's chest, each syllable like a sail, all but lifting her from the gloom. "Did you ever think we _shine_ sometimes too?"

Of all things, Carmilla could only laugh. Laura jabbed a finger into her shoulder, although it lacked the sternness it had only days ago.

Had this whole thing only begun days ago?

"Come on, Carm!" Laura urged, smiling in spite of everything, luminosity almost blinding. Shine, indeed. "We've got witches to stop!"

* * *

When Carmilla and Laura finally reached the main floor of Lustig, the battle was already unfolding.

"They've got us pinned!" LaFontaine yelled from behind a cauldron. (Carmilla allowed herself a moment to wonder when and how Laura had gathered all of the acquaintances they had met in just a few days, but put it out of her mind.) Beside them, Lola's lips moved, and a jet of fire was flung in the direction of Maman, Euryale, and Stheno. Stheno sent it back, forcing LaFontaine and Lola to duck for cover.

To Carmilla's left, Prince Brody, Danny, and the crew of the Summer Sister were throwing anything in reach at the witches.

A jar of hemlock exploded on Euryale, eliciting a scream of rage from Carmilla's aunt.

"We have to do something," said Carmilla, drawing Laura behind a pillar, where it was only slightly safer. "They'll be slaughtered out there."

"My bag," Laura blurted out before Carmilla could even start strategizing, yanking it off her shoulder. Rifling through the supplies, she retrieved the box that Danny had given her after disembarking from the airship, gesturing to it excitedly.

"What is that supposed to do?" Carmilla demanded.

"You'll see!"

"Laura, don't—"

Too late. Laura darted past her and into the fray, causing the line of fire on both sides to stop due to sheer amazement.

"Hey!" Laura shouted, voice echoing louder than any battle cry. "Eat this!"

Without a second's hesitation, she flung the box at the witches.

"Run!" She threw back at the mishmash of fighters, just as the box started rattling. All too willing to obey, the group fled for the door, save Carmilla, who lingered until Laura was within reach. The box stopped rattling, allowing a blast of light to escape, then another, and another.

"Lightning," said Carmilla, stunned. Laura had listened. A human, technically, wasn't attacking Maman and the aunts.

"Yeah, duh! Let's _go_!" Laura ordered, tugging Carmilla out the door.

Carmilla had just enough time to see the lightning whirl and shoot out of the box, split into three zigzagging streams, and hurtle right for the hearts of the witches. Identical screams trailed after her, the loudest and most infuriated from Maman. Lustig itself started groaning, foundation shaking like a leaf in the breeze, and by the time Carmilla and Laura made it to the ragtag group at a safe distance, the manor collapsed, crumbling from within. Whatever _thing_ that existed below it—the master even Maman answered to—died as well. Carmilla was sure of it.

"You're just full of surprises, Pandora," Carmilla quipped when the dust settled.

"Thanks, Carm."

* * *

They parted ways with the sky pirates, the good witch, the coachperson, and the prince, unwilling to interrupt what looked like a very important conversation about the future court of King Brody I of Stormhold. It was remarkably easy to just slip off on their own, now that all vestiges of Carmilla's life—sans herself—had been swept away for good.

"What should we do now?" Laura wondered, hand in Carmilla's. The touch was familiar now, amazing and invigorating in its own unique way.

"That's up to you, cupcake. That candle's…that candle's the only thing that'll get you home." Maybe you _could_ draw blood from a stone, Carmilla reasoned, unprepared to say her goodbyes.

Laura paused, pulling Carmilla's other hand into her grasp.

"I don't think it's the same home anymore. Not unless…you come with me." Laura angled it like a question, features hopeful and so _kind_.

In lieu of an answer, Carmilla kissed Laura.

"Maybe someday," Carmilla got out between kisses, raising a dimpled, breathy smile from Laura before being drawn in again. These kisses weren't with someone she loved, but if the spark of joy—joy!—in her chest was any indication, it was very likely headed that way. There was so much the two of them could do. So much to _see_ , now that a tether wasn't anchoring Carmilla in one place. Now, she was free. "Down here's—"

"Fine?" Laura guessed, features aglow.

"Stellar."

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not really happy with a lot of the characterizations and overall structure of this, but I figured lightly toned stories like Stardust are quick, kinda fluffy things. Anyway, thanks for reading!


End file.
